


Beauty In The Breakdown

by tessafreakingvirtue



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: AU, Angst, Anxiety, Bisexual!tessa, F/M, Murder, Mystery, Thriller, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-12 18:36:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22763800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tessafreakingvirtue/pseuds/tessafreakingvirtue
Summary: At twelve years old, Tessa's life changed forever when her family was murdered. She has spent twenty years struggling to come to terms with the massacre, building a wall around herself. When Scott Moir appears on her doorstep determined to write a book about that night, those walls begin to crumble.
Relationships: Scott Moir & Tessa Virtue, Scott Moir/Tessa Virtue, Tessa Virtue/Scott Moir
Comments: 23
Kudos: 61





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU story idea I've been sitting on for around a month. It's kind of dark, and not for everyone, but it's not especially graphic. It's more of a psychological thriller, and I hope you'll at least give it a chance! PS I hate having to write summaries.

The sound of a gunshot woke her.

Tessa sat up in bed, her heart thrumming in her chest at the sudden awakening. She wasn’t sure it was a gunshot at first, of course. She’d only heard them in movies and television, and even then, not very often. She preferred comedies to action. In her child’s mind, guns were so far removed from her reality that she needn’t worry herself with them.

Another shot had her clawing out of her sheets and brought her to her feet. She stood barefoot on the cold wooden floor of her bedroom, torn with indecision. She wanted to tear open her bedroom door and run down the hall to her parent’s bedroom, and it was this thought that sent a sickening chill up her spine.

Her parents. If someone was in the house, she needed to get to them. She needed to get to the phone, or…

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a scuffle beyond her bedroom door. She heard a shout, recognizing the voice immediately as belonging to her older brother Casey. There was the sound of fists pummeling another human body, a moment of quiet, and then a third gunshot.

This was followed by a deafening silence. Tessa cried out, immediately clasping her hands over her mouth to stifle the sound. Her mind tried desperately to understand the situation as heavy footfalls sounded in the hallway outside her bedroom.

Instinctively, acting in fear, it was all she could do to throw herself to the floor, scrambling under her bed. She was small for her age, and that was proving to be useful, because she barely managed to tuck herself beneath the bed frame when the door to her bedroom creaked open. 

She took a shuddering breath, a quiet sob escaping her before her hands flew to her mouth once more in an attempt to silence herself. 

Hot tears pricked her eyes and slid down her cheeks as she watched a pair of black boots circle her bed. She trembled, the beat of her heart sounding like a stampede. The stranger had to be able to hear it as well. 

The black boots stood for a long moment as the stranger seemed to survey her room, the posters of animals and athletes feeling so immature and childish upon being faced with her own mortality at the tender age of twelve. 

She didn’t allow herself to move despite the cramps in her thighs, barely allowed herself to breathe. From beneath her bed, watching the black boots as they moved, she recounted the gun shots in her head. 

One, she’d woken up. 

Two, she’d jumped out of bed. 

Three, she’d heard Casey yell. 

It seemed unreal to believe that those gunshots had ended the lives of her parents and at least one of her older brothers, but if that was the case, that meant that the gunman either hadn’t yet discovered Kevin and Jordan, or that they’d been shot before Tessa had awoken. 

Shot. That’s how she had to think of it. She couldn’t let herself believe that half of her family was dead, their lifeless eyes open and staring as blood pooled on the floor beneath them. Not on the same floor she was huddled on right now. 

She watched as the boots made another circle around her bed before exiting the room. She sobbed quietly, forcing herself to stay down. She listened as the footsteps moved down the hall, heard the creak of another door as it opened. She recognized the tell-tale sound of Jordan’s bedroom door. She’d been in the process of begging their father to fix it. She held her breath, trying to brace herself for the heartbreaking sound of another gunshot, but none came. 

The man seemed to linger in Jordan’s room, and she couldn’t help but think about what that might mean. Was her sister asleep? Had she hidden, just as Tessa had? She closed her eyes and prayed to a god she was no longer sure she believed in. She hoped Jordan had escaped, maybe she’d already contacted the police and officers were on their way. If Tessa could just make it downstairs, she might be able to get to the front door and-

Another shot.

Tessa sat upright in bed, her skin beaded with sweat. Her dark hair plastered itself to her forehead and she wiped the wet strands away, her chest rising and falling with the effort of controlling her breath. She sucked in air, threw the covers off of her and swung her legs over the side of her bed. 

Her toes curled on the soft carpet beneath her bed. She’d insisted upon installing it when she’d moved into her home. The feel of cold wood beneath her feet was much too tactile, a sensory memory that brought back that night in alarming detail. 

She glanced wearily at the clock, blinking at the digital readout. It was the middle of the night. Of course it was. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept straight through, even with the help of the Ambien her psychiatrist had prescribed her since her insomnia had worsened. She woke feeling groggy, sometimes barely able to drag herself out of bed for work, but she supposed she should be grateful for any amount of sleep, no matter how minuscule. 

Padding into the washroom connected to her bedroom, she tugged open the medicine cabinet and retrieved the small prescription bottle, twisting off the cap. Tessa tipped the bottle, dumping a round, white pill into the palm of her hand. She tossed it into her mouth, cupped her hands to collect water from the sink, and swallowed them both down. 

She stood, gripping the edge of the sink, her fingernails scratching against the porcelain. The beta-blocker helped to slow her heart, helped her feel more in control of herself when the nightmares became intolerable. It wasn’t a long term solution, her psychiatrist told her, but she’d managed to make it work for the better part of five years now. It was enough to keep her going, enough to avoid emergency room trips and the worry in Jordan’s eyes each time she inevitably found out her baby sister had experienced yet another panic attack. 

Tessa lowered herself onto the edge of the tub, a massive claw-footed fixture that had been one of the main reasons she’d wanted this house. The bathtub was a sacred place for her, and when she was submerged in water hot enough to turn her skin red and bubbles that smelled of freesia, it was easy enough to forget the pain of her past. 

From where she sat on the curved lip of the bathtub, she studied her weary reflection in the mirror of the medicine cabinet. Her hair was mussed, her eyes dark and wild. She tried to remember the words of her therapist at these moments, when her heart ran rampant and she struggled for breath. She tried to remind herself that these were just dreams; powerful reminders of her past, to be sure, but they no longer had any control over her. She was in charge now, and no longer the terrified twelve-year-old hiding under her bed. 

It had taken nearly twenty years to get to this point, where she could begin to separate herself from the frightened child she’d been when her parents and brothers had been murdered. She had finally begun to understand that, despite the fact that she’d cowered beneath her bed, it hadn’t affected the outcome of the massacre. She had merely been a child. Even if she’d been able to find the courage to run down the hallway to her parents’ room, it wouldn’t have made a difference. She’d seen the police and autopsy reports. Both of them had been killed instantly. 

It was better, in a way, she supposed. The last memories of her parents and brothers were happy ones; board games and the dinner of spaghetti and meatballs her mother had fixed the night of the murders. She could still feel the soft brush of her mother’s lips upon her cheek, the way her fingers had brushed back her hair as she’d told her that she loved her. That she’d see her the next morning. 

Tessa no longer cried over the loss of her family. She’d spent ten years doing that. Night after night, month after month, sobbing, clutching the sheets as she realized she would never see her parents or brothers again. Now, the pain was still real, still visceral, but it hurt differently. 

Rather than feeling as if it were a knife that prodded at her skin, it had transformed into a pain that came from somewhere inside her. It was if she’d been dealt faulty organs; it was an ache that radiated from within her bones, her muscles, her very soul. It was a crushing sense of loneliness, one that she was sure would never be rectified. 

She’d traveled, she’d graduated from university. She’d been in relationships that hadn’t lasted, had even, for a time, participated in mindless, no-strings-attached sex with whoever would have her to make the pain go away. She’d obtained her dream job as an interior design specialist and spent her (well-paid) days helping others make their dreams of comfort and luxury come true. 

She had lived her life to the fullest, had done things some people could only dream of, and yet she’d never been able to fill the void that had been created on that night twenty years ago. She could do well enough pretending to be a normal, functioning member of society until a memory took her back to those moments beneath her bed, the acrid smell of copper overwhelming her as a police officer had led her down the hall and away from the tragedy that had occured. Her olfactory sense was the strongest, most powerful reminder, but that didn’t exempt the sound of a car that had backfired or, similarly, the feel of a cold, wooden floor beneath her feet. All of these occurrences were enough to make her heart race, cause a cold sweat to break out over her skin. 

She could try to sleep again, and she knew she should. She had a meeting with a client first thing in the morning, but the thought of sliding back into her too-large sleigh bed and waiting for sleep to claim her felt like an invitation to the panic attack that had nearly claimed her just moments ago. 

Sighing with the exhaustion she’d grown accustomed to over the past two decades, Tessa exited the washroom and made her way down the hall to her office. It was safe in here; the one place in her home aside from the bathtub where she didn’t allow her intrusive thoughts to follow. Her office was her sanctuary, a place she could work and focus on improving the lives of others without thinking about everything she’d lost. She could design an inspired master bedroom without remembering the way her own parents were shot dead in their own.

Tessa hovered over her desk, then sat in front of it and touched the trackpad of her laptop. It came to life a moment later, the digital designs she’d been working on filling her vision. She knew she would be exhausted by eight o’clock, when she’d arranged to meet her client at their home in Kitchener, but being here in the calm of her office helped clear her mind. It helped the anxiety pass, and left her feeling like a somewhat normal person. Sitting in the cool dark of her office, she could almost remove herself from the tragedy that hung over her head on a daily basis.

Ironically, in her office was the only place she felt confident enough to store the photographs she had of her family. Her favorite, a photo that had been taken the Christmas before the murders, sat in a frame on her desk. The smiling faces of her family shone up at her, her mother’s beautiful smile the same one she saw reflected in the mirror each day when she forced it. Her brothers and father, strong and so alive. And Jordan, as lovely as she’d ever been, a vibrant teenager. She had been the only other person besides Tessa to survive that fateful night, hadn’t even been home at the time of the murders. Tessa only found out afterward that Jordan had snuck out that night to drink with her friends. 

In a way, it was fitting that Jordan had allowed herself one final night of teenage carelessness before she had thrust herself into the role of being her younger sister’s caregiver, even if it hadn’t been legal for another two years. After that night, their lives had changed dramatically. There was no more time for friends, no casual fun. Each decision was made with an intensity that should never have been expected of a then sixteen-year-old girl. 

Tessa studied her own expression in the photograph; a tiny girl with shining green eyes, her hair pulled into a bow, a bright smile upon her pink lips. She wondered, if there were an alternative universe in which she hadn’t experienced the trauma and terror of losing her family so terribly at such a young age, what that little girl would be like now. 

Would she have a family of her own? Would she be the ballerina or ice skater she’d dreamed of being once upon a time? 

Sometimes, it was better not to think about that possibility. 

Tonight, just for tonight, she placed the photograph of her family face down. 

Sometimes it hurt too much to look at them.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, this story is super different from the others I’ve written. It’s dramatic and definitely me straying from my comfort zone. I hope you like it, and thank you for reading.

“And how did you cope with your panic this time?”

Tessa shifted on the white leather couch, her eyes drifting from the concerned face of her therapist to a wall adorned with framed degrees and certifications. She could feel the other woman’s eyes on her as she sighed, averting her gaze. 

“Poorly,” Tessa finally responded, causing the corner of the therapist’s lips to curl up. “I stumbled into the washroom, I took a pill. And then I went into my office and I did some work. And I know you said I should stop doing that, but working helps clear my mind. It makes me feel halfway normal.” 

Tessa could hear the defensiveness in her own voice, and from the way her therapist’s eyebrows rose on her forehead, she knew that the other woman could as well. She curled her fingers against the leg of her jeans, scratching gently there. 

“I don’t think I ever said that specifically,” the other woman narrowed her eyes, adjusted her glasses. “I think what I said was something along the lines of hoping you could find something besides work that helps you feel calm. Going out with a friend, or your sister. I understand that throwing yourself into your work helps you cope with your anxieties, but…” she sighed, sitting forward in her chair. “Tessa, you’ve been seeing me for the better part of eight years. I’m going to cut the shit with you.” 

Tessa’s eyebrows went up, her forehead wrinkling. It was true; she’d been coming to Jen for nearly a decade. They’d had their share of ups and downs, but over the past few years it seemed that they’d begun to make a breakthrough. Jen was honest with her, called her out when she needed it. It was nice, to have someone who knew her past and didn’t handle her with kid gloves. She was so tired of seeing that pitied look in others’ eyes when they inevitably discovered she was one of the two young survivors of the family massacre. 

“Oh?” Tessa blinked at her. “Okay.” 

“You need to go out. You need to find a nice guy… or a girl, Tessa. You’re in your early thirties. You should be meeting friends for dinner, taking cooking classes, I don’t know… hooking up with someone from Tinder?” 

Tessa wrinkled her nose, and Jen laughed. 

“Okay, maybe not Tinder, but my point stands. You’re young. Three years younger than me, might I add. Your life isn’t over, Tess; it’s just beginning.”

Tessa let out a quiet breath, but shook her head. 

“It doesn’t feel that way,” she admitted quietly, glancing up at her. “I feel like I’m a thousand years old. Like I should just crawl into my grave and let them shovel the dirt in over me.” 

Jen nodded. 

“That’s what trauma does to people. It ages them. It turns them into shells of their former selves. It’s one of the reasons we’ve continued to meet weekly, despite the fact that this event occurred nearly two decades ago. You don’t get over that kind of thing, Tess. You could see me every day for the rest of your life and it’s not going to change what happened, nor make you forget. What our sessions do, though, is help you to understand that despite this terrible thing that’s happened to you, your life can go on. You don’t need to lay down and die with your family.” 

As she finished speaking, she sat back. Tessa knew she was studying her, watching her face for a telltale sign of distress. She wouldn’t cry, of course. She had never cried in front of Jen, and wasn’t sure she could even if she tried. 

“It just doesn’t seem right,” Tessa said quietly after a moment. “Going on and pretending to be okay without them. All I can think about is all of the experiences my parents and brothers missed out on. How it almost doesn’t seem fair that I should get those chances because they never did.”

Jen pressed her lips together, nodded. 

“That’s the survivor’s guilt. We’ve talked so much about these feelings. But you have to remember that-“

“That it’s not my fault that I survived and they didn’t,” Tessa met her brown eyes. “I know. And I was just a child. Even if I hadn’t been paralyzed with fear under my bed, there’s nothing I could have done to save them.”

Except, was there? A part of her mind always wondered, though she wouldn’t share that with Jen. She could never tell her that, despite the hundreds of hours they’d spent together, she still had doubts. That sometimes, when the panic seized her, it was because she wondered what she could have achieved if she hadn’t chosen to cower beneath her bed while the rest of her family was attacked. 

“That’s right,” Jen nodded once more, and if there was any part of her that could see through her, she didn’t let on. She uncapped her bottle of water, then took a sip. “So.”

Tessa furrowed her brows, her green eyes narrowing. 

“So, what?”

“So…” Jen sighed. “Are we going to talk about the inevitable, or do we need to keep beating around the bush?”

Tessa glanced down, picking at her fingernails. She could feel the words on the tip of her tongue, but unless Jen had the gall to mention it, she had no intention of doing so. 

Tessa chose a different direction. 

“Why do you think I always wake up at that point in the dream?” She wondered. She fingered the tiny hole in the knee of her jeans. “It’s that fourth shot. I always wake up right after Kevin was killed. Why do you think that is?”

Jen considered her words for a moment, studying the mask of composure Tessa wore. 

“I’m not a dream therapist,” Jen chided her softly. “But I guess I would say it’s because those four gun shots… the shots that took your family’s lives.. that’s where your brain is stuck. You can’t move into the idea of getting out from under that bed and seeing the police officer that found you because your psyche is still in your childhood bedroom, hiding.”

At the look of surprise on Tessa’s face, Jen smiled. 

“Is that not what you were expecting?”

Tessa had been backed into a corner, faced with the fear of coming to terms with an idea she’d managed to bury within her for two decades. It was the idea that these recurring dreams were directly linked to her inability to leave the past behind her. The terrifying thought that she could not continue to drag her past traumas into another decade of her life. Instead, she swerved once more. 

“I know what you were referring to,” Tessa said quietly after a moment. “The beating around the bush.” Jen watched her expectantly as she went on. “It’s almost the anniversary.”

She hated using the word in that context, the anniversary, as if it were something to be celebrated. Her family massacred in their own home. A date that each year marked the tragic occasion. It wasn’t right. 

Jen stayed quiet, observing her. 

“Jordan and I have been getting requests for interviews. CBC, CTV, newspapers, magazines. So many people vying to talk to the girls who survived, even now, twenty years later. How fucked up is that?”

“It is rather morbid,” Jen nodded. “How have you responded to these requests?”

“I’ve ignored them, mostly. I’ve stopped answering the phone unless I recognize the number. Same with my door and emails.”

“And Jordan? How is she dealing with all of this?”

Tessa stared hard at her, realizing after a moment that her jaw was clenched. She relaxed it, massaged it with her fingers. 

“This time of year is hard for both of us,” Tessa responded. “Harder maybe for her.” She didn’t need to say why. Jen knew. 

“Is she still seeing her therapist?” Jen wondered. 

“No,” Tessa sighed. “She says she’s okay. That she’s dealt with the pain and learned to compartmentalize it.” Tessa glanced up at her. “Do you think that’s true?”

“Do you think that’s true?” Jen turned the question back to her. Tessa resumed picking at the hole in her jeans. A thread of denim unraveled in her fingers. 

“I don’t know what to think,” Tessa confessed quietly. “It’s hard for us to talk about it. It may be coming up on twenty years, but sometimes it feels like it was just yesterday.”

“Do you think the reason it’s so difficult for the two of you to discuss it is because Jordan still, despite her protestations, feels some misplaced guilt? I know you’ve mentioned before that she’s brought that up.” The therapist’s voice was soft, not at all judgmental, but it felt as if the woman had forced a red-hot poker into Tessa’s guts. She felt sick and averted her green eyes, focusing instead on the clock on the wall. 

“It’s four o’clock,” Tessa signaled the end of the session. She grabbed her purse and stood. “I’ll see you next week.”

“Tessa,” Jen called her name, “if you need a few minutes-“

Tessa ignored her and pulled the office door open, fleeing down the hallway. She didn’t stop to take a breath again until she’d burst outdoors, pressing her back up against the brick facade of the building and gasping. 

Her hands trembled, and she clenched them into fists at her side. She pulled her sunglasses from her purse and slid them onto her face. She took a breath, raised her chin and walked to her car as if she wasn’t falling apart. 

She and Jordan met for dinner that evening, the two of them settled into a booth at a sports bar, a bottle of beer sitting on the table between them. Jordan wrapped her spindly fingers around the bottle and brought it to her lips. 

“Jen told me I should be going out more. Meeting people, taking cooking classes.” She eyed Jordan. Jordan swallowed her beer, then scoffed. 

“Does Jen know you set your kitchen on fire trying to make dinner last year? I don’t think there’s any culinary organization in Canada that can afford the insurance rates that would go along with having you in their class.”

Tessa smirked at her, nodded. 

“You’re right. I guess she didn’t mean cooking classes specifically, just the idea of me getting out and meeting new people.” Tessa sipped from a glass of water. “You should join me.”

Jordan pressed her lips together, studied her sister’s face for a moment before shrugging. 

“I have a lot going on right now,” she shook her head. 

“Oh, like what?”

“The barre classes for one,” Jordan took another nervous sip. “And I work. You know I work a lot.”

“But we meet for dinner every Wednesday night,” Tessa pointed out. “Instead of meeting at some shitty bar, we could go to a… I don’t know, painting class or something. It might be fun.”

Jordan furrowed her eyebrows. 

“I can’t paint for shit,” she replied. 

Tessa shrugged. 

“It doesn’t matter; they walk you through it. You can pick the project you want. They even have wine, and...”

“Tess,” Jordan said her name firmly, her eyes dark. “Can we just drop it?”

Tessa blinked, sat back against the booth. The waiter appeared with their food and placed the plates before them. Tessa stared forlornly at the grilled chicken on her plate. 

It was moments like these that Tessa remembered she and Jordan had lost the ability to simply be sisters twenty years ago. Since Jordan had taken custody of Tessa when she had been only fourteen, there had always been a different dynamic between them. Best friends, yes, but beyond that? Not quite just sisters, not quite mother and daughter. Jordan was the one who had taken her shopping for formal dresses for dances and had sat beside her bedside when Tessa had come down with pneumonia when she was fifteen. Through the fevers, chills, and cold sweats, Jordan had stayed right beside her. 

“Hey,” Jordan said after a moment, her voice softer. “Look at me.”

Tessa’s gaze met her sister’s. Jordan’s lips had curved into a tentative smile. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be short with you. It’s just… it’s a tough time of year for me. For both of us,” she corrected herself quickly, but Tessa heard the unspoken addendum in her words: but you weren’t the one...

“Yeah, I know.” Tessa reached for her sister’s hand, squeezed it once, gently. “It’s okay.”

Jordan gave her a real smile then, one that achingly reminded Tessa of that Christmas photo of their family on her desk at home. She lowered her eyes to the plate in front of her. 

They ate amidst the sound of cheering hockey fans for a few long moments, but the silence between them was no longer tense. 

“You know, for what it’s worth,” Jordan said around a mouthful of salad, “I think Jen’s right.”

“About the cooking class?” Tessa brightened. 

“No, not about the cooking class,” Jordan put a hand to her mouth. “I think you’d have a lawsuit on your hands if you did that. What I mean is, I think she’s right about you getting out to meet people.”

“So come with me,” Tessa pressed again, “we can meet people together.”

Jordan grinned at her crookedly. 

“Tess, I think you’re missing the point. What I’m saying is… I think the kind of people Jen wants you to meet are people that might find it awkward if your older sister is tagging along.”

Tessa blinked at her, shook her head. 

“I don’t.. what are you…”

“I’m saying you should hook up with someone,” Jordan raised her eyebrows and lowered her voice. 

Tessa frowned. 

“I doubt that’s what she was saying. Therapists don’t encourage casual sex. Do they?”

“She’s your therapist,” Jordan pointed out. “And, anyway, it doesn’t have to be casual. Maybe you’ll find someone you really like.”

“No way,” Tessa crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not looking for a relationship. I have way too much going on right now.”

“Oh?” Jordan teased. “Like what? Working? What else do you do in that huge house all by yourself?”

Tessa recognized the playful tone of her voice and reached out, plucking a plump cherry tomato from Jordan’s salad before popping it in her mouth and biting down. Juice squirted into her mouth and she chewed and swallowed. 

“I haven’t hooked up with anyone since college,” Tessa admitted hesitantly. 

“That’s why you definitely need to,” Jordan pressed. She was smiling, but, just as she had for the past twenty years, Tessa saw the pain in her eyes. With a flash of worry, she realized Jordan had lied to her. She hadn’t learned to compartmentalize any more than Tessa had. She’d just gotten better at tricking herself into believing it. 

Tessa lowered her gaze, shrugged. It hurt too much to look into her big sister’s eyes, to understand that some of the trauma she carried was Tessa’s fault, burdened with the responsibility of being her primary caregiver since essentially sixteen years old. She wanted to make things easier for Jordan, and if the idea of Tessa having a semblance of a social life did that, well… she could fake it well enough if it made the worry in her older sister’s eyes fade. 

Tessa sighed, glancing around her. “So, what? Am I supposed to find someone here?”

Jordan shrugged.

“It’s as good a place as any to start, right?”

Tessa could feel Jordan’s eyes on her as she perused the bargoers. Men, women. Tessa wasn’t picky. Sometime in her early twenties, she’d come to realize that sexuality was a fluid thing. She found attraction with both women and men, a night of mindless passion was just that. Labels weren’t necessary. Sex wasn’t about love, at least not for her. It was about the pleasure, the momentary forgetting. Sex was about being able to get the release she needed, and while she didn’t consider herself selfish in bed, her own satisfaction was her primary concern. She’d lived a tough life. She needed a break somewhere. 

“What about him?” Jordan motioned to a blonde man, his hair just shaggy enough to send the message that it was purposefully unkempt. Tessa shook her head, continuing her search. A man with dark brown hair and a long, straight nose. A woman with mousy black locks and glasses that matched the shade of her hair. 

She approached a young woman with a brunette bob, her nose turned up just slightly at the end. As Tessa slid onto the barstool beside her, she turned and smiled. 

“Hi,” Tessa grinned. “Can I buy you a drink?”

The woman nodded, and Tessa noted that she looked younger than she’d originally thought. Early twenties, at most. 

“I’m Sam,” Tessa lied coolly, naturally. The name left her mouth without a second thought, and the ease of it disturbed her. Sam had been the nickname bestowed upon her by her siblings as a child, and no one had called her that since she was twelve. She wasn’t sure why it had been the first name to come to mind. She could only imagine what Jen would say to that. 

“Ella,” the younger woman grinned, and when she spoke, Tessa noted her English accent. “Thanks for the drink.”

“You’re not from around here,” Tessa surmised, though that was dumb. Of course she wasn’t from London, Ontario. 

As if Ella could read her mind, she laughed, and it wasn’t dissimilar to the tinkling of bells. 

“No, I’m from the other London,” she grinned. “The one in England. Just in Canada visiting some friends. And you?”

It was a breath of fresh air, knowing that Ella wasn’t local. She suddenly wished she’d used her real name, regretted deceiving this young woman into believing she was someone other than who she was. It was too late to take her words back, though, and when Ella smiled, her nose wrinkled. Tessa felt a rush of attraction for her. 

“I’m local,” Tessa smiled softly at her. They say quietly for a moment, Tessa glancing over at Jordan, who was watching her expectantly. Tessa offered her a raised eyebrow before turning back to Ella. “And I think you’re beautiful.”

Ella smiled then, but it was different. It was the smile of a woman finding her confidence. 

“Oh?” Ella studied Tessa’s face. “Well, thank you.”

Tessa shifted on her bar stool, leaned in close to her. Her breath caressed Ella’s skin, slender fingers brushing her hair behind the shell of her ear. 

“I’m sorry, I’m really bad at picking people up from bars,” Tessa admitted sheepishly, and that was true. She didn’t have the confidence to swoop in with grace and charisma, leave men and women lusting after her in her wake. 

Ella turned to her, grinning. Tessa absurdly noted the sharpness in her canine teeth, and the thought of them scraping against Tessa’s skin sent a flush of arousal through her. 

“I think you’re doing a pretty good job,” Ella confided. “But you don’t look like the type of girl who picks people up at bars.”

Tessa’s front teeth dug into her bottom lip. 

“I’m trying something new,” she found her voice, and Ella smirked at her. 

“Well, then,” Ella said after a moment, “the only question left is your place or mine?”

Tessa regarded Jordan with a wave, her older sister watching as the two women tumbled into Tessa’s car. Their passion was frenzied and, once they’d gotten to Ella’s hotel, they barely made it out of the elevator and into her room before they were breathless and kissing. 

Clothes were discarded, lips pressed against hot skin. Delicate fingers traced one another, whimpers that broke the warm air between them. Their bodies arched, came together and fell apart as they panted, desperate with need. 

“Sam,” Ella groaned her name as Tessa pressed wet kisses along her flat stomach. The word was a whispered plea, fingers tangled in Tessa’s dark locks. She tugged, whining her name again. “God, Sam.”

Tessa blinked, breaking the reverie of being absorbed in the other woman’s seduction, her green eyes meeting Ella’s dark gaze. 

“My name is Tessa,” she whispered the words, and though Ella’s eyebrows furrowed with confusion, the feel of her mouth causing her to close her eyes once more. Tessa let herself be lost in the moment between them, the give and take of their bodies enough to distract her from the pain that had settled into her bones. 

It wasn’t until after both of them had climaxed, Tessa perched uneasily on the side of the bed, that Ella reached out to her, her dainty fingertips touching Tessa’s bare back. 

“Sam?” She caught herself, shook her head. Tessa met her eyes guiltily. “Do you want me to call you Sam or Tessa?”

Her voice was soft, curious. She wanted more, Tessa knew. She wanted to be touched and held, comforted and reassured that bringing a stranger back to her hotel room wasn’t a character flaw, and that anyone would have been tempted to do the same if approached by a gorgeous woman. 

It wasn’t that Tessa didn’t like her. She was beautiful, elegant, soft. Her skin tasted like vanilla and her mouth was as intoxicating as a fine glass of wine, but Tessa didn’t do this. She didn’t stick around after, didn’t wait to see what might develop out of a one-night stand. 

“Tessa,” she said, even as she slid from the bed and began to pull her clothes on. “I was Sam once, a long time ago. That’s not me anymore.” She paused for a moment, looked back at Ella. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have lied to you.”

Ella blinked, a soft smile curling her lips. 

“It’s okay. I like you, Tessa.”

Tessa gave her a tight smile. 

“I like you, too, Ella.”

“But you’re leaving.” It wasn’t a question. 

“Yes,” Tessa said after a moment. “And I’m sorry for that, too.”

And she was. But she made her way to the door, knowing she would never see Ella again. 

Hers was a life of transition. She belonged nowhere, to no one. 

Maybe one day, that would change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t worry, Scott shows up soon :)


End file.
